Another Chance
by Jem Kallop
Summary: Bakura has returned, surviving the destruction of the Memory World arc, and he goes to claim the last thing he is owed - the secret of Marik Ishtar. Thiefshipping oneshot, all fluff.


**Thiefshipping oneshot for mid-k-night, my hermano**

**Written to 'Skyfall' by Adele. I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! or these characters.**

**[Edit: Fixed some typos. Thank you, TigerDragon4! This is why I should never publish stories at 3am :P]**

Bakura stood tall and proud at the edge of the universe, dark eyes watching.

The desert spilled out below him, sprawling mightily across to the very edge of the world, where the glittering sea could just be seen in the far distant horizon, touching the bottom of the sky. The sun sat, fat and proud, in the centre. It was low-slung now, dipping with ever-increasing certainty to its bed beneath the ocean for the night. If he squinted, Bakura almost fancied he could see the infamous scarab rolling it on its never-ending path.

The desert itself looked like it was in flames. The golden sand was stained a deep blood-red in the dying night sky, mirroring the orange and pink streaks of the sunset, painting the whole scene in a glowing mural of fire and light. It burned to watch. As Bakura looked out, he couldn't help but be reminded of that night millennia ago when he had lost his whole world. Kul Elna – what was left of it – would be out there somewhere. Despite himself, Bakura found his wolfish eyes drifting to the mountain pass that led to the village of his childhood. There would be nothing there now but a few charred ashes, the occasional burned crisp the only remnant of the once-happy village that once stood there. Anything worth keeping, Bakura had preserved long ago in a secret cave in the mountains, and only he held the key.

Bakura's lips set in a firm, thin line and a deep crevice appeared in his brow, features dipping into a stern, almost harsh expression. He carried the weight of his past constantly on his back. He had planned for thousands of years exactly how to bring about the destruction of those responsible for the slaughter and misuse of his people, only to be foiled and thwarted at every turn. Every single careful plan he had laid had unravelled before his very eyes, until in the end Bakura was nothing but a mere vessel, his true purpose lost in a twisted, demonic plot. But he had survived. He had survived, and now that he was back there was only one venture fixed in his mind. And this time, nothing was going to stop him.

The sun dipped further below the horizon, spreading long fingers of shadowy darkness spiralling across the desert. Bakura had always felt more comfortable at night. Even in this modern time, when his old friends the stars were hidden by the bright lights of the cities, Bakura felt at home when cloaked in the shadows of the night. He tugged his long black coat around his slender, pale frame and proceeded on silent feet down the sheer cliff face, tumbling with practised ease into the city he had come to know so well.

His prey was just waiting to be caught.

It took little to no time to find the right house. Bakura moved with a cold, calculated purpose through the streets of the Egyptian city, his hands clenched into fists by his sides. His shoulders were bunched with tension, every move swaggering with an inner confidence that only he could transmit. The street was as domestic as any other; scents of cars and flowers and baked bread pervaded the air, as homely as could be imagined, but it did nothing to convince Bakura that he wasn't in the right place. He would recognise that motorbike anywhere. It was parked in pride of place on one of the driveways, red metal gleaming in the last remaining strands of sunlight. Bakura remembered with an almost fond grin the day he had first jumped in front of it, stopping its owner in his tracks. Nothing since that day had ever been the same.

Bakura slipped around the side of the house, sticking to the shadows. His black coat enveloped him perfectly and he tucked his white hair into it, hiding the tell-tale strands. Moving round to the back, Bakura slunk up to a window and peered inside. A malicious grin stretched his lips. The three figures he sought were sat around the table, enjoying what looked from the outside like a perfectly amiable family dinner.

Bakura's sharp eyes missed nothing.

He picked out the way the youngest rolled his eyes at anything the female said, his awfully familiar blond hair dripping into his eyes. Marik Ishtar's brown skin was the exact light shade that Bakura remembered, his violet eyes shining with just as many emotions as they did in the thief's memories. If he stared too close, he would get lost in their depths forever. Bakura remained hidden in the shadows, transfixed by Marik's face and expressions for several more long minutes, until he gave himself a small shake. Now was the time to make his move.

Twisting away from the darkness, Bakura slipped back around the edge of the house. It took little to no effort to find a conveniently placed drainpipe to scale, allowing his skilled thieving hands to unpick a lock on the window and slip his slender body into the upper floor of the house. As soon as he was inside, the sweet smell of warm food drifted up to him, and Bakura cradled his stomach in an effort to stop it from rumbling too loudly. There would be time for that later. For now, Bakura padded across the landing on silent feet, masked by the sounds of conversation from downstairs. One of the three voices was easily distinguishable as Marik's, and it made Bakura's chest ache with an odd sort of yearning. Gods, he hated that.

With sure steps, Bakura tried every door on the upper floor before finding the bedroom that he deduced as having to belong to the youngest Ishtar. The desk was messy, scrambled with parchments piled on top of each other in a haphazard ordering system that Bakura could never fathom. Next to the bed was plugged in a simple nightlight, hidden behind another pile of paper in some attempt at modesty, and a half-open door in the corner revealed several dozen outfits that only Marik could pull off. Despite himself, Bakura released a low chuckle.

The bed beckoned invitingly, the sheets unmade and covers half falling off the edge. Bakura rolled his eyes. In exasperation, he went and straightened out the sheets before settling himself calmly right in the middle of the bed, leaning back comfortably on his elbows. Now all that was left was to wait.

The last dying rays of the sun speared into the bedroom, the black of night soon replacing it. Bakura shook his hair out from under his coat and stretched with a feline grace, relishing in the shadows that helped to hide him from view, protecting him. He remained silent as the distant sound of footsteps echoed up the stairs, containing his excitement with the practised ease of thousands of years' experience. This was one plan that was not going to fail.

A creak as the door opened echoed through the room. A low sigh heralded Marik's arrival, a slender hand drawn across his brow and massaging his temple. He shut the door to his bedroom firmly behind him, shutting out his siblings and plunging the room into absolute darkness, hiding both of the figures from each other. Bakura waited with baited breath. The scent of the other drifted to him from across the room, making him bite his lip to keep hold of his self-control. Not yet. The moment was not quite here…

The electric light snapped on.

A loud gasp sounded from the doorway, Marik's jaw dropping open. One hand pressed to his chest, his body staggering backwards slightly until his back met the wall. His violet eyes were wide and fixed, staring in glazed shock at the figure on his bed.

Bakura smirked, leaned on his elbows, and murmured with a practise ease, "Miss me?"

Marik simply stared. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, fingers bunching nervously into fists as he shifted his weight, gaze fixed on Bakura the entire time. Eventually he pulled himself together enough to slide a step back, keeping himself pressed to the wall. When he finally spoke, Marik's voice was a low hiss. "B-Bakura?"

"The very same," Bakura answered smoothly.

Marik's voice became slightly more substantial, if incredulous. "What in the name of all the Gods are you _doing here_?!"

"Lying on your bed," Bakura responded with an exaggerated look around the bedroom, "Or so it appears to me."

"You ass," Marik hissed. "How did you get in here? More to the point, how the hell are you still alive?!"

Bakura's smirk grew wider and he sat up, crooking a finger in Marik's direction. "Now, those questions have much longer answers. I suggest you come and have a seat."

Marik pursed his lips, stared, and then span to flee the room.

Quick as a flash, Bakura was up and out of the bed, slamming the bedroom door shut just as Marik was about to slip through. Marik gave a harsh yell, twisting the handle sharply, but Bakura's long fingers wrapped around his wrists to hold them steady. Marik opened his mouth wide to scream but Bakura hissed into his ear, "Don't try anything. If either one of your precious siblings gets up here, I'll murder them where they stand."

"I'd like to see you try," Marik spat in response.

Bakura merely chuckled. "No you wouldn't, Ishtar."

Marik seethed and writhed in Bakura's grip, grappling with him, but Bakura overpowered him easily by a jab to the ribs and tossed him onto the bed. Marik gasped, winded, but before he had a chance to recover Bakura was on him, flipping him onto his back and leaning over him with a dark-eyed glare. Marik glared right back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"Claiming what is mine," Bakura snarled.

Marik's eyes widened. "What do you me-"

"Stop talking, Ishtar," Bakura growled dangerously, his wrists pinning Marik's down against the sheets.

"If you kill me, my siblings will find out," Marik spoke quickly.

Bakura scoffed. "Please, if I was going to kill you, you'd have been dead hours ago."

Marik stared.

Bakura caught his look and snorted, leaning a little closer with a smirk. "What, thought you'd got rid of me, did you? That when you gave my Ring to the blasted Pharaoh you could forget about me completely? No such luck, little Ishtar. I always get what I am owed in the end."

"I owe you nothing," Marik spat.

Bakura smirked. "That's not how I remember things. You promised me both the Rod and the Necklace, as well as the secret of the Pharaoh that your family has carried for generations."

Marik's breath hitched.

"Now," Bakura leaned down and purred into Marik's ear, "The Items are destroyed, that much I know, but as for the second part of our deal…" One pale hand wormed its way under Marik's shirt, feeling slowly but surely up his back, "Well, that debt can still be repaid."

Marik's back arched off the bed and he growled ferociously, wriggling as much as he could to be free of Bakura's stone cold grip. His violet eyes pierced up into Bakura's dark gaze and he managed to free one hand, grabbing Bakura's wrist with a snarl. "Don't."

"And why not?" Bakura hissed in response, his hand still dangerously high up Marik's back. "This is only what you owe me, after all."

"You have no right…" Marik cut off with a loud hiss when Bakura's fingers met the first scar and he writhed furiously against the bed, kicking his legs ferociously. Bakura grunted, grappling with him as best he could, but for all Bakura's tactics Marik was still the stronger. It wasn't long before Bakura found himself on his back on the bed, Marik straddling him with furious violet eyes. "_Don't._"

"Why?" Bakura growled. "I should have known you were as untrustworthy as the rest of this sorry excuse for humanity."

Marik merely glared.

"You never upheld a single one of my demands," Bakura snapped. "Pathetic. You're pathetic, Ishtar."

Marik slammed Bakura back into the sheets with a snarl. "Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Oh, do I not?" Bakura sneered. "You're just a foolish child; that's all you ever were. I never should have wasted my time with you in the first place..."

"Stop _talking_," Marik seethed.

"...I always knew you were just a waste of time," Bakura finished, tone malicious.

Marik snapped. He gave Bakura a harsh shove before storming to his feet and pointing one trembling finger in Bakura's direction. "You think I'm useless? Weak, pathetic, afraid? Well, I ask you, could a mere _foolish child_ endure what I have been through? Could a mere boy have survived _this_?!" Within seconds, Marik had spun around and tugged his shirt up over his head, throwing the material furiously into a corner, his scars bared. Which was, of course, exactly what Bakura had wanted.

Bakura merely stared.

His eyes traced the many patterns marring the skin of Marik's back, the scars acted out in perfect precision against the smooth flesh. They had stretched over time, presumably as Marik grew. The muscles of his back were currently bunched, making the wing patterns stand out even more than they usually would. They were breathtaking in their beauty.

Before Bakura was truly aware of what he was doing, he had risen from the bed and crossed to stand behind Marik. He heard Marik's slight intake of breath but he ignored it, instead lifting one finger to just gently press against the top line of one of the wings.

Marik froze.

Slowly, so slowly, Bakura began to trace the pattern, starting at Marik's top left shoulder and moving down each hieroglyph from there. He could feel Marik trembling under his touch, sense how uncomfortable the other man was, but Bakura was determined now to collect what he was owed.

As Bakura's finger moved on down, Marik drew in a shuddering breath and spoke in a surprisingly soft voice. "Why are you back here?"

"Why?" Bakura murmured in response, his finger never ceasing in its slow movements. "That is perhaps the hardest question to answer. If you had asked me 'when'…" Bakura traced the head of the Winged Dragon of Ra before continuing, "Or even 'how', I would have been able to give you a much more satisfactory answer."

Marik took in another careful breath. "Well, tough, because I am asking you why."

"Now that sounds like the Marik I knew," Bakura smirked with a chuckle.

"And you sound like the Bakura I knew," Marik countered with a low hiss, "Always avoiding my questions."

Bakura's features dropped slightly. "Then I avoid no longer." His finger reached the last line of hieroglyphs and he slowed his movements, speaking quickly. "I came back to find you. You are my proverbial 'unfinished business', Ishtar – it seems I cannot move on without sorting out our little mess."

"…You sound like you're calling yourself a ghost," Marik scoffed, though there was an edge to his voice that might have been curiosity.

Bakura snorted. "Of course not. Do I feel insubstantial to you?"

"I can certainly feel your finger," Marik muttered, but Bakura was ploughing on before he could say more.

"I returned to you, Ishtar. The only person I have ever met in my many, many years of life who could come anywhere close to equalling me." Bakura released a dry chuckle. "Partners, indeed. I never thought I would have any use of a partner, much less find one I could stand to work with. But you…"

"You didn't work _with_ me," Marik was quick to interrupt, "You worked _for_ me."

"A mere technicality. Insolent brat," Bakura responded with an airy flick of his free hand.

Marik grinned. "Alright, so we're equals. Fair enough. But that doesn't explain why you decided to get in my bed in the middle of the night."

"It wasn't the middle of the night," Bakura all but purred into Marik's ear, "And it will be easier to _show_ you why I did that."

Marik opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get even a syllable out, Bakura's hands clasped his shoulders and span him around. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds until Bakura closed the tiny centimetres of space between them to press their lips together.

Marik's eyes shot wide open. His body went slack in Bakura's grasp, limbs heavy and unmoving, and he stood in absolute shock as Bakura kissed him. It was heated, searing, enough to burn them alive if Marik allowed it. He resisted for as long as he could, but Bakura's mouth was incredibly insistent, and it didn't take long for Marik to give in to the passion rushing though his veins.

They exchanged several searing kisses, the only sounds soft sighs and the occasional low hum of pleasure. Marik's arms found their way around Bakura's neck, fingers pulling though the long white strands of his hair, and Bakura in return clasped Marik tight around his bare waist. His hands slowly dared to creep higher, once again tracing the scars, and Marik arched against him with a low moan.

Eventually, Marik pulled away enough to pant quietly, his violet eyes lit from within. He sent Bakura an incredulous, almost confused gaze, though he did not remove his arms from around Bakura's neck. "What was that for?"

"I was showing you why I came back here," Bakura murmured in response. "You're the most interesting person on this planet, and if I'm going to be stuck here for another Godsforsaken lifetime, then I am going to be stuck with you."

Marik digested that information for a long moment, his eyes narrowing a little, until a slow grin spread across his face. "Does that mean you came back for me?"

"Of course," Bakura growled. "Did you not listen to a word I just said?"

Marik hummed in appreciation. "Just checking that this isn't all another weird, crazy dream."

"_Another_ dream?" Bakura questioned with a raised brow. "Dream of me often, do you, Ishtar."

"…Shut up." Marik silenced Bakura's knowing chuckle with another kiss.

Bakura pulled back far sooner than he would have liked, his hands moving to Marik's hips and moving him away a little. He ignored Marik's low whine in favour of smirking. "You'd better pack a bag."

Marik arched a brow. "Am I going somewhere?"

"You are if you know what's good for you," Bakura growled in response. "I didn't come back to earth to spend the rest of my days in the company of your sister."

"Sister?" Marik looked nonplussed for a moment before his eyes widened. "Gods, Ishizu! And Odion! What the hell am I going to tell them?"

Bakura shrugged. "I couldn't care less. Just get a bag and come with me- there is no way in hell we are staying here."

"You sound awfully sure that I'm coming with you," Marik teased with a chuckle.

Bakura's face fell flat. "Don't try that. You're wasting precious time."

Marik let out a golden laugh, pressing a hand to his mouth to muffle the sound before it could reach his siblings, but to Bakura's ears it was the most glorious sound he had ever heard.

"Alright," Marik finally spoke. "Give me five minutes and I'll be with you."

"Five minutes too long," Bakura growled sullenly.

Another small laugh escaped Marik's lips and he crossed to wind himself into Bakura's arms again, giving him another firm kiss on the lips before spinning away to pack a bag.


End file.
